by Amanda Jay
"Yes," the librarian continued, pointing. "This is good old Frankly, looking a bit worse for these days, isn't he? And this is Ezra Orson and the son who has apparently gone missing..." He trailed off and stared up at Tom, the glazed liquid of his eyes magnified under his glasses.
Oh no, Tom thought, wanting to kick himself. I should have known better.
"Everyone's searching for you" the old librarian began weakly. "I should inform..."
"It isn't me, there's been a mistake," Tom began but there was no use. The old man was slowly turning towards the back door of the room.
"Thanks for all your help," Tom called out as he did what he did best-- slip out of the room and vanish into the shadows.
It was only when he was safely away, dangling off a cable back to the attic did it hit him. He had finally been so close to seeing his father, even if it was just a picture of him, but he didn't have the sense to grab the newspaper. He had only just managed a glimpse at the sketch but a lifetime of not knowing was hardly satisfied by a glimpse. An opportunity ruined because he looked like the boy who crawled through their attic window last night. Tom felt a prickle of dislike towards his so-called brother. Something told him that this wouldn't be the last time he would regret meeting him.
EZRA
The thing about days that change everything is that you don't ever see them coming. Ezra knew this well but after six months of settling in to the university programme, he had finally started to relax a little. He had stopped worrying that he would fail so spectacularly that he would have no choice but to return, shamed, back to the farm. He had stopped worrying that he wouldn't make any friends. He didn't make very many but he didn't have any enemies either, so he took that as a positive sign. He stopped worrying that Professor Muriel would be disappointed in him when he finally got to know the real Ezra. Professor Muriel had instead declared that he was growing quite fond of this farm boy.
Ezra smiled at the sun shining down on his face as he left his morning lecture. It was nice to let himself be happy.
He was so distracted by his own happiness, however, that he hardly noticed the chanting crowds until he was smack in the middle of a group of protestors. He had seen groups like this gathering around the University before-- he had even recognised a few of them from some of his classes. They were usually students, he noted, and they seemed to be quite vocal about their dislike for the King but apart from that he never really bothered to find out what they were protesting against.
"No place for Bearoux in my bedroom!" a red-faced, burly man screamed, waving a large sign precariously close to Ezra's head.
"No place for Bearoux in my bedroom!" the crowds echoed back, waving their own signs and looking equally red faced.
He hadn't settled in to the city well enough to be completely impervious to loud crowds and looked around urgently for the quickest route away from the mass of people.
That was when he saw her-- just a few feet ahead, standing on a statue at the town centre, a bullhorn in hand, one of the few women among the demonstrators. The crowd was starting to get unruly but no one touched her. Her passion and fire was almost palpable. It radiated from within her, an aura making the air around her simmer, making everything close to her glow. It illuminated everyone around her or maybe it was just him.
He stared at her, he didn't know for how long. It was a minute and an hour and a lifetime all rolled into one. He kept trying to memorise her, the way her freckles drew constellations over her smooth face, the way her hair seemed to have a life of its own, the way his own heart skipped and danced and pounded as he just kept staring.
And then, almost by magic, if there ever was magic, her sparkling eyes picked him out in the crowd. She met his gaze fiercely, almost challenging him. And then, a true miracle. A smile.
And that was when Ezra got pushed over. There must have been some sort of scuffle, he supposed later, or some of the protestors were starting to get a little boisterous. In any case, all Ezra remembered was clambering onto his knees and searching for the books that he had dropped. He stole a look over to the statue to see if she was still there but she had disappeared, along with her magic and his moment.
With relief he spotted his journal a few feet away and was just reaching for it when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
"Hey, are you okay?" the voice was sharp and assertive.
"I'm fine, thank you. Just reaching for my book here..." Ezra's fingers finally wrapped around the leather bound sheaf of papers as he looked back over his shoulder, still on his knees. He felt his heart stop.
It was her, smiling curiously at him.
"You better get up. You'll get trampled over by this lot," she said, offering him her hand.
Ezra took it and stood up, clumsily. It was the first time she rescued him. It certainly wouldn't be the last.
***
He had arrived twenty minutes early, Ezra realised, staring at the brand new clock tower through the grimy window. He needn't have rushed but then he was always rather skittish about the time-- a habit he had brought with him from the farm. He picked the table closest to the window so they could catch some of the afternoon sun, but started rethinking his decision after he sat down. What if she preferred a more quiet table, towards the back of the cafe, where perhaps they could have more privacy?
More privacy for what? The nagging voice in his head, the one that sounded like his father, jeered. The only reason she would want more privacy is to hide the fact that she is meeting with you. It must be some terrible mistake. She probably just needs help with her homework.
"What’cha having today?"
Ezra was jerked out of his self-deprecation by the bored-looking waiter.
"Water, please," he asked meekly. The waiter looked unimpressed, but Ezra didn't want to order anything until she got there and he had a rough idea of what she would be having and how much it would cost. He had a few coppers and a silver with him which he knew should be enough for even three cups of coffee but what if she wanted to have a sandwich as well?
Ezra reached into his pocket and felt about to make sure this money was indeed there and then checked the time again.
The Eyes of Mliss, they called it-- the beautiful structure that reminded everyone where they are and what they should be doing. At least, that was what the King said when he built it. The disapproving murmurs claimed that it was yet another homage to the Twin Gods.
Homage or not, it certainly was beautiful, Ezra thought. He could never have even imagined something as grand until he laid eyes on the towering structure, looming imposingly at the very centre of the town. There were four faces to the clock tower, each face exactly the same and painted to look like an actual face of an ethereal being. Half of it gold, half of it silver, the most striking characteristic were its eyes. The King had ordered the eyes of the Northernmost face, the face turned towards the palace, to be picked out in blue and green Kubles, the stones that provided power to all of Mliss, and they sparkled like stars suspended above the hustle and bustle of the city.
But all it told Ezra right then was that it was almost half past five. She would be here any moment now. That is, if she came at all.
He shook his head and coloured slightly when he thought back at what an absolute bumbling mess he was when he spoke to her.
He had held on to her hand as she helped him up and immediately regretted his decision. His hands were shaking, not to mention sweaty and covered in dirt after his fall.
"I'm sorry," he managed, his words sounding like they came from someplace else.
"What in the world for?" she asked, curiously. She didn't wipe her hand on her skirt, at least, not immediately, which Ezra reckoned was positive.
But Ezra couldn't reply. He just stood there, gawking at her like some sort of imbecile, willing every bone, every molecule in his body to wake up and say something, anything.
"I found my journal," he offered stupidly. Anything but that. Now he fought the urge to kick himself.
"That's great," she rep
lied, kindly. "The lot here can be a bit rough sometimes. There are a lot of feelings flying about here, you know." She gestured around her, and Ezra nodded, even though he didn't really know what she was talking about.
"Anyways, I'm glad you're alright." She was already turning away, starting to making her way back to the statue.
"Wait," the word left Ezra before he could stop himself and certainly before he figured out what to say next. But she did turn back towards him.
"I'm Ezra," he stuttered, offering her his moist hand again.
"Pleased to meet you Ezra," she smiled. "I'm Kaelyn. With a K." She took his hand again, her palm cool against his.
"Kaelyn with a K," he repeated. His tongue felt thick in his mouth but she didn't seem to notice that either.
"That's right. With a K, don't forget now." Like he could ever possibly do that.
"Would you like to meet me after? Kaelyn with a K. For coffee? Or tea? Or well, anything you like?" It wasn't eloquent but the words shot out of him, sudden, desperate and before he had time to change his mind.
Kaelyn didn't respond at once. She peered at him, for an eternity, or so it felt, while Ezra's heart thudded louder and louder.
"I finish at half five. There's a small coffee shop around the corner from University and Third, it's not fancy but they give you free refills sometimes. Would that be okay?"
For the second time that morning, Ezra felt he had witnessed a miracle.
But it was half past five now and he was starting to panic.
The waiter came back with his water.
“Waiting for anyone?” he asked, his voice still bored, eying the empty seat across Ezra.
“Yes, she’ll be here soon, I think.” He was just making idle chatter, Ezra reminded himself. He wasn’t judging him, was he? Maybe he should ask him something back.
“That looks interesting,” he said, gesturing to the book that was sticking out of the waiter’s apron pocket. He could just make out the title-- The Inevitable Fall of The Republic. Twin Gods, was everyone in Mliss so political?
“Yes, well, time will tell if it’s true,” the waiter replied gruffly, running a hand through his wiry, rust-coloured hair as he went over to the next table.
Ezra took a sip of his water and checked his hands to make sure they were clean. His palms were sweaty again so he furiously rubbed them on the sides of his trousers, berating himself, even though he wasn't entirely sure why.
The bell at the top of the door tinkled and without turning around, he knew it was her. Heart in his throat, he waited.
"I'm not too late, am I?" she asked, slipping into the chair opposite him. "My class ran late, oh you know how these Accounts professors are, always in a world of their own. Balance sheets, balance sheets, balance sheets. I swear it's their favourite word. Did you order?"
Ezra barely had time to shake his head.
"Hey! Frank! Coffee for me and my friend here," she called over to the waiter, who beamed over at her enthusiastically.
"Sure thing, Kay." It seemed like Ezra wasn't the only one who glowed in her presence.
"So, did you find the place without a problem?" she asked, finally pausing to hear his reply.
"Yes, thank you." Ezra hoped he didn't sound too formal and stuffy. He had actually been here before, but he had never gotten a free refill. Something told him that Kaelyn probably got free refills wherever she went.
"So, Ezra, why did you want to meet me?"
Ezra stared at her. He had hoped there would have been a smooth way to ease into this conversation.
"I--" he tried. She looked at him patiently.
"I--" Come on.
"I had to. I didn't think you would agree."
"You had to?" Her eyes had a twinkle in them now and she leaned forward in her seat, clearly ignoring the second part of what he said.
"Well, yes." Ezra cleared his throat and leaned forward too, grasping at straws. "I'm new, you see, to the city. And I wanted to know more about the protest. And how I could get involved, perhaps."
"Oh, is that why you wanted to meet?" Ezra could have been imagining the glimmer of disappointment in her voice.
He made up his mind right then.
"Actually, no."
Her eyes pierced into him, but he willed himself to continue.
"I actually don't know why I asked you here. I just knew that if I never saw you again, that I would regret it with all my heart." The words came out fast and possibly a little too loudly.
There was a brief pause, where Ezra surveyed her tentatively, hoping against all hope that he hadn't just ruined everything.
"Are all you scientist types this dramatic?" she asked, finally, easing the tension as her face broke into a wide smile. Ezra couldn't help but laugh in nervous relief.
"I'm sorry," he replied, shaking his head. "And I'm not a scientist, by the way, I'm a mathematician."
"Oh, dear, what a terrible mistake, how will you ever forgive me?" she joked, her hand over her heart.
"I supposed if we give it time," he played along.
She smiled. "Yes, time."
FELIX
Felix had always hated waking up in the mornings. In that small gap between sleep and wake, he had no control over his thoughts and they would come, miserable and unrestrained, serving as constant reminders of things he both held sacred and tried to forget. Some days, he would hear his mother’s voice, singing her song, or telling him that she missed him. He would realise with a start then, that he would never hear her voice again. The realisation, no matter how frequent or overused, would always take him by surprise, as if one day he would wake up and realise that this was all a bad dream. Other days, the voice he heard was his father’s, dripping with disappointment—-at him, or his mother, or at his own self, Felix would never know.
This morning was no different. He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet when he heard her voice.
"Don’t be afraid, my love," she had said, tenderly. How was her voice always tender?
He tried to remember when exactly she said it but his mind was drawing a blank, and that made him afraid. How was he to get through anything if he couldn't remember every little detail? Was his mind already failing him?
He had heard his mother and his father arguing. His mother crying. His heart still ached when he remembered her soft sobs and the way she kept trying to hide them. He knew it was his fault. He couldn’t put his finger on why but he knew it every time father looked at him.
A small tear escaped the corner of his eye-- a tiny trickle that slid down his face and caused his bruise to sting. It was enough to wake him. Gingerly rubbing his face, the previous night’s events came rushing back to him and he jerked up, suddenly all too aware of where he was. A thin ray of light beamed into the small attic where he spent the night, illuminating the bare floors and the dusty walls.
The girl, Skii, he had heard her being called, slept soundly on a tattered mattress in a corner, her fist still clenched around a rusty looking knife. That cannot be safe he thought to himself, still somewhat sleepily. The boy was nowhere to be seen. He stretched and his arm hit the empty soup can, which knocked over with a clatter onto its side and rolled around the floor.
Skii was up in an instant, knife wielded in front of her, as she glared around the tiny attic. Her eyes met Felix’s and for just a second he saw confusion take over her face. Then she was back to being confidently in control.
"You’re up," she said, almost too casually.
"Yes," Felix managed, hesitantly. She had seemed kinder to him than Tom was the night before but she was uncomfortable now. Felix supposed he couldn’t blame her. He wondered what her relationship was with his brother. They seemed close, almost like family. But Felix would be the first to admit that he didn’t know anything about what relationship ideals were held in the Underbelly. Tom had listened to her, at least, last night when she told him to stop with the questions.
In the light of day though, things seemed different. The awkwardness was a
lmost palpable. They both just sat on their mattresses, surveying each other, until Skii finally asked--
“Did you know where Tom went?” It was a poor attempt at conversation but Felix took it.
“No, I’m sorry. I was asleep till just now. Thank you once again. For taking me in, that is. It’s been, well, it’s been a rough few weeks.”
“Must’ve been.”
She was still weary. Felix couldn’t blame her. She kept staring over at him like she couldn’t believe her eyes.
“Felix, you said your name was?” she asked again, spinning her knife between her fingers.
“Yes.”
“And your father? He sent you, you said?” The light kept flashing off the knife as she twirled it.
“Yes, he did. He asked me to find Tom. I wonder why, after so long. I mean, he must have known he was here?”
She seemed more uncomfortable than ever.
"Are you hungry?" she asked abruptly, but didn’t wait for an answer. "I’m starving. I’ll head out and get us some breakfast, why don't I? You stay put, you hear? I don’t know where Tom has gotten to, but I’m sure he’ll be back soon."
And with that, she nimbly stepped out of the open window and dove onto a moving cable. Felix was dumbstruck. That surely cannot be safe, he thought, again.
Alright, Felix told himself. It's time to arrange my thoughts. It wasn't a comfortable thing for him to do. He had spent much of his life meticulously packing away his thoughts into boxes. They were too painful, most of them, for him to have them out in the open. But he couldn't completely throw them away either so he pushed them back to the furthermost fractures of his mind. To poke at them now, well, Felix shuddered a little and shook his head. Who knew what he would find in there? But still, he knew he must.
It was the only thing he could do. It felt like all the answers were within his reach, if he could just wrap his head around it.
"Let's start from the beginning," he muttered to himself. That's what she would have said, after all.